


I Still Want It All

by orphan_account



Series: Blue Neighborhood [2]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, I'm Sorry, Jean has some serious issues, M/M, Marco is the same philosophical cutie, Marco's POV, Sequel, Songfic, it only goes downhill from here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-24
Updated: 2015-10-24
Packaged: 2018-04-27 19:43:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5061556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The thing with moving on is that it didn't matter how many steps I took, because Jean didn't take them with me.</p><p>His steps weren't mine to take, and if there was a couple of lovers meant to fall apart, that would be us.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Still Want It All

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! I'm back :) so, if you follow the video serie I'm using as inspiration, you might already know the last one came out this week, and I'm sorry I couldn't post this before, but the video was kind of a surprise and this wasn't ready...
> 
> Anyways, I'm here now!
> 
> As always, any errors, grammatical or other kind, please let me know and I'll fix it!!!
> 
> Oh gosh, here we go...

Jean and I weren't meant to be.

We weren't some miracle made by the Great Design.

We weren’t the result of the stars aligning perfectly.

We didn't come to this world to collide with each other.

I think we were like two pieces of a puzzle that didn't belong together, but still fitted if you pushed a little harder.

And we didn't have another option beside fit.

-o-o-

Two weeks after our first meeting, I found out Jean looked a special kind of gorgeous at the dim breaking down light.

His dad had drank too much and passed out as soon as he put a foot in his house, so Jean ran away.

I took him to the beach because it was the prettiest place in the whole town, and Jean loved the wet sand and the cold water.

He'd always had.

As we sat there, talking idly, barefoot and side by side, I found myself tracing lazy paths on the back of his hand, fingers rough with sand.

Jean looked at me, mouth relaxed in an easy smile and took my fingers between his.

That was the exact moment I fell in love with him for the second time, and I felt it in my stomach. Then he let me kiss him for the first time in years, and his lips tasted like sunshine and salt.

The warmest feeling spread through my chest when his hands slid into my hair, and I grabbed him by the waist with shaking hands. Breathing someone else's air was the most intimate experience I had ever had, and at that moment I wasn't thinking in anyone or anything beside Jean.

Jean and his pretty sighs.

Jean and the way he trembled under my already shaky touch.

Jean and his soft lips and sharp teeth.

Jean and the almost addictive feeling of his tongue against mine.

Jean and his hands roaming through my sides.

Jean's skin, smooth against my fingertips.

Jean and his warm body against mine.

Jean’s weigh on my lap.

Jean gasping.

Jean pressing closer.

Jean.

Just Jean.

I wanted him closer. Closer than that.

I needed it.

A strong feeling washed over me with such intensity that I felt it like an animalistic instinct. Everything felt too hot, and I had to pull away because it felt like too much, too fast.

Jean was panting softly, eyes closed and lips shiny.

“What happened?” he asked, voice low and hoarse.

“I just...thought you needed space.”

He opened his eyes slowly, a slight frown forming in his face.

“I don't want it” he said, his forehead pressed against mine and our panting breaths mixing “I don't want space, I want you.”

I felt that statement like a twist on my stomach, warm spreading below my waist.

He got even closer -- _impossibly_ closer.

“Take me home” he whispered against my lips.

-o-o-

Being with Jean wasn't anything like I had imagined.

It wasn't fast and messy.

Being with Jean was me, tasting his skin as I kissed down his neck.

Being with Jean was him, arching his back and pressing closer to me.

It was him moving his fingers through my hair and asking for more.

It was the feeling of my fingertips pressed softly against his tongue.

It was breathing his moans straight out of his mouth.

It was him, smiling between pants.

It was blunt nails marking my back.

It was Jean gasping my name.

It was me moaning his.

It was hard breaths and muffled sounds and hot skin.

It was _us_.

And it was the exact type of closeness I craved.

-o-o-

My parents didn't like it when I was with Jean, and his dad hated me, so our meetings were all in secret places and at odd timings. Everything was complicated and we were meant to fail since the beginning, I knew it, but I was trying to replace every second we were apart with good moments and better memories.

And my hopes were high. Really high, even though Jean kept telling me we needed to find a better way, or things wouldn’t work out.

What can I say? I was the optimist, he was the realist.

There was an boat cemetery in the old side of the town, and Jean and I build a little house with boards and tarps in one of them when we were nine. Now we barely fitted inside, but it was _our_ place, and it was great.

That night, we were laying on the floor, Jean's head resting on my chest.

"I love you" I told him, because he already knew it and the words were a weigh in my chest.

He didn't say it back.

"I couldn’t see the stars in Trost" he said, instead.

I was expecting that, so I pretended it didn't hurt and Jean pretended I wasn't crying.

-o-o-

When we were eleven, Jean was in love with Mikasa, and he was a total mess every time he was around her, always nervous and excited. Later, the night we first kissed, I felt the same kind of flustered warm he transmitted when he liked her.

That feeling wasn't there anymore, and I didn't know if it was because Jean had changed, or because he wasn't in love with me.

"I loved you once, you know?" he mentioned one hot afternoon, both of us floating on my swimming pool while my parents weren't home, his voice barely a whisper "and I could love you again... But I'm scared."

And I understood.

With a dull pain that made my chest ache and my throat tight, I understood.

If there was a couple of lovers meant to fall apart, that would be us. We were constantly walking on eggshells, and Jean was too scared to move.

I wasn't.

If he didn't take a step forward, I would take two.

"I don't give a fuck" I said "I'm not gonna give up"

He just smiled.

I was a fool, and he knew it before I did.

-o-o-

The thing with moving on is that it didn't matter how many steps I took, because Jean didn't take them with me.

And, contrary to what I thought, every time I took a step forward, I was just getting further. I was leaving him behind.

His steps weren't mine to take.

Jean was scared and confused, and that made him go back.

Jean's dad never hit him again, and even though I knew he was a son of a bitch, he still was Jean's dad, and Jean wanted to make him proud.

He never actually said so, but he didn't need to. I knew him well enough, and their relationship, as fucked up and troubled as it was, was the only thing that made Jean feel like he had a family. Like he wasn’t so broken.

That evening, we were sitting on the harbor, feet hanging above the water just like when we were kids, and Jean’s voice wasn't more than a murmur.

I remembered a time when he was obnoxiously loud, just a kid with a potty mouth, and I longed that time with something that felt like homesickness.

"I'm tired" he said, eyes fixed on the horizon.

"Of what?"

"Of this place, of these people..." he looked at me "Of you..."

I didn’t looked back at him. Instead, I just sighed.

"Why?"

He shrugged, his head turning slightly to the side "I guess nothing last forever."

We kept silence for a minute.

"Do you remember" I started "when we were thirteen and stole one of my dad's bottles? It tasted awful, but we drank it..." Jean frowned, eyes casted down "And we were drunk and stupid, looking at the sky, and we saw an airplane... You took my hand and promised one day we would travel the word together, and I was so in love with you that that sounded like the best thing ever." I swallowed hard "Right now, I don't want airplanes or promises... I just want you. You are enough."

He didn't answer, and I waited.

"My dad saw us" he said, and my blood froze "And I know he's not the smarter man, or the best father, but he's right; we're not kids anymore, Marco. We can't play forever."

"I'm not playing" I turned to face him "I loved you then, and I love you now. Your dad doesn't has a voice in this."

"But I do!" he replied, voice shaking on the edges "I do have a voice in this, and I want to stop... What do you expect to get out of this, anyway? We already slept together."

My eyes widened in surprise and I stared at him, my face slowly passing from disbelief to indignation.

"I don't want us to just sleep together, I want us to _be_ together!"

"I can't give you that" and he sounded so sure a decided that it hurt more than anything he’d said before.

"You can try. _We_ can try... I love you, Jean, and I can wait for you"

"Yeah, for how long?" He laughed bitterly "For how long can you wait, Marco? A few months? Two years? Ten?"

"Forever" I said, without missing a beat.

That seemed to catch him out of guard for a moment.

"I don't think I can try for that long" he said  "Things have changed; we're too different now, Marco. This isn't fun anymore... We have to move on, do something that worths it"

A loud honk catched our attention and I turned around. Jean's dad was waiting in his old green pickup.

"I’ve gotta go" Jean told me, standing up.

"Jean..." I called out, sounding more like a plea, and reached out for his hand.

"Leave me alone" he repeated, shaking his hand out of my grip.

And just like that, Jean was gone.

Without screaming, without _actually_  fighting, without saying goodbye. Just a farewell that felt more like a ‘see you tomorrow’, but hurt like an ‘I don’t love you anymore’.

-o-o-

Hitch was a pretty girl with blond hair and sharp eyes. I never really talked to her because she seemed very unapproachable and harsh, but Jean didn't have that problem.

I saw them holding hands on the street, really close. Jean was laughing and I overheard a conversation I wasn’t part of.

“You know I can’t, I have practice on Friday, _Jeanbo_ ” Hitch said, and even when his voice was sharp and his tone was mocking, Jean just rolled his eyes and smiled.

“C’mon, Hitch, my dad really wants to meet you” he pleaded, holding her hand with both of his.

“Your dad’s a creep”

“A creep who wants to meet you”

Hitch snorted and pulled her hand out of Jean’s hold. “God, you’re so annoying...” she sighed “Fine, but you owe me a big one, Kirschtein.”

Jean hugged her so hard I felt the air escaping her lungs.

Or maybe it was me who was choking.

As if that weren’t enough, Eren told me they were dating. It had only been three days since our fight.

I never knew something could hurt more than Jean leaving me to go to Trost, or Jean telling me he was tired of me, but seeing him kissing and hugging somebody who wasn't me, and ignoring me whenever our paths crossed felt ten times worst.

It hurt more because he didn't kiss goodbyee.

It hurt more because he was there, always there.

It hurt more because he looked happy but I saw him crying more than once, silently and hidden, but offering my shoulder wasn't an option anymore.

It hurt more because he was also hurting, but it wasn't my place to fix it.

So I just stared.

Stared at him, stared at his hand intertwined with Hitch's, stared at his smile to see if it made it to his eyes... But mostly, I just stared at the stars.

I stared at them and thought about a time when Jean and I were happy. I thought about liquor and airplanes and names carved on an old boat house.

And then I thought about Jean's lips, soft and trembling against mine. About the times he fell asleep on my chest. About the nights we spent on the phone without talking, just hearing each other's breaths. About the few times Jean actually smiled. About all the times he cried when he thought I was sleeping. About the feeling of my arms around his body. About the way he smiled between gasps the first time we were together. About the sound of his laugh.

Even if he didn't want me, even if he had chosen his dad’s pride and his own ego, even if he rather hold hands with Hitch in public than kiss me on the intimacy of an old boat house, even if he willingly hurt both of us because he was scared, Jean's place was next to me.

I knew it. We both did.

But I was a pusher, and he was a coward, so we broke each other.

We shattered.

And, somewhere between the pain and the bitterness, I felt like I could have done something to stop it, to make things better. Like everything was my mistake.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry.
> 
> I would like to say things will be better, but... Well, you'll see.
> 
>  
> 
> Comments, suggestions, anything is always welcomed!!!!
> 
> See ya soon ;)


End file.
